My space is bare (barren?). It reflects little of me - save for what is absent; the yellow polyester floor rug with vulgar patterns is folded away out of mind in the top cupboard. As are the plastic drawers that would make a corner awkward. The wooden floor is clean, the table covered by a loose assortment of goods for my life.

Friday rained and blew and took me across the river to a business park where I could exist in Planet Corporate Capitalism. Here, one is removed from other realities; buffered by manicured gardens which support abstractly arranged towers. A minimal artwork with plenty of bare, paved space.

On this day it was my favourite cafe--a tall, tall room surrounded by glass, a corner converging at 75 degrees. Light and airy inside despite the rain; coffee and a sticky cookie, Japanese magazines and soft jazz. That air of moneyed contentment. Temporarily I can take a swim. In the luke warm...Outside I realise I've been sitting beneath fifty stories of something - it doesn't say--offices doing something, for somewhere, far away and out of mind (sight). 

Osaka has been a magnificent mercantile city. Can't help but regret (wonder, atleast), at the possible loss of these bustling waterways filled with haggling and goods being tossed between bodies; fish and rice from all over the inland sea. Gives way to this sterile, abstract cleanliness of the business park. Today's commerce. Elevated walkways and underground tubes prevent any unnecessary collisions, excitement.